


you don't need no me time (that's you and me time)

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Barebacking, Degradation, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, HORNY HOURS IN FULL SWING, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, a bit of a drop, god im so sorry for the tags im trying not to be explicit but i guess prepare urself ??, i mean it got a little bit of plot, kiyoomi loves atsumu so so much, no beta we die like men, not really - Freeform, quarantine fucking, this is just downright dirty i apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: Kiyoomi catches Atsumu jerking off in the washroom in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 317
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	you don't need no me time (that's you and me time)

Quarantining has been, for the most part, normal. Obviously, it had been easier adjusting to the closure of everything for Kiyoomi than it had for Atsumu. Unlike his boyfriend, Atsumu isn’t a big fan of routine. Being the more spontaneous person of the two made lockdown awfully stressful in the beginning, but Kiyoomi had always been there to help him through it all. They’d try to do something new every once in a while—they had even attempted to build a PC all by themselves (they ended up having to ask for help from their trusty streamer-friend Kenma, but they were pretty much halfway there, Atsumu thinks). The amount of hours they’ve spent in the kitchen trying to make something new every week rivals the accumulated hours Kiyoomi has ever spent in the shower, probably. Not likely, but a decently measured comparison.

Needless to say, Atsumu had lots of help adjusting, and he finds it’s quite comforting staying in nowadays. Sometimes he even purposely avoids going outside just because he’s grown more comfortable staying in while recognizing the repercussions of possibly catching the virus. He's also started to pick up on some of Kiyoomi’s own habits: wearing a mask feels more pleasant than going out bare-faced; his hands itch for hand sanitizer after touching things, and he’s pretty sure it’s not paranoia.

It’s just the habits he shares and, on the flipside, Kiyoomi is also willing to try all these new things with Atsumu. He’d even go as far as to say he has _fun._ Ordering groceries together is fun. Trying to take care of a plant together is an enjoyable task.

Naturally, when things are going that good, even after nine months of living together, things are bound to take a southern turn.

Atsumu thinks the last time they had sex was nearly two weeks ago, and that’s a pretty damn long time considering they’ve been together for just over a year, live with each other, and sleep in the same bed together. They’re young and healthy—at one point they had sex almost every single day. The scrutiny of that has led Atsumu to quickly come to terms that something is terribly wrong.

Or maybe he’s just overthinking it. Since things have been looking a little brighter as a nation in regards to the pandemic, places are beginning to open up, albeit at a snail's place to ensure precautions are taking place, meaning people are starting to work jobs again. Kiyoomi has, precisely, started working from home two weeks ago—and he works a damn tough job. Atsumu’s job as a hair specialist pales in comparison to Kiyoomi’s as a law firm assistant.

Nowadays, all Kiyoomi does is sit in their spare room-turned-office and take calls all day while staring at their monitor. He’ll wake up earlier than Atsumu, work until late into the evening, and the only time Atsumu ever sees him during those hours is when he brings him lunch because he doesn’t want to bother him unless it's necessary or important.

And, well, he didn't think this issue is of _that_ level of important, at least enough to knock at the office door even if Kiyoomi wasn't taking an calls. Still, though—is it _Atsumu?_ Had he, at some point, done something that has garnered this lack of affection from his boyfriend? Kiyoomi climbs into bed after his shower and Atsumu will join him, but then he’ll watch him pull out a book, slide on his reading glasses, and give him a kiss goodnight on the forehead half an hour later before falling asleep.

Like a light.

Atsumu wonders if it’ll continue to be like this as long as Kiyoomi is working. He turns on his side, licks his lips nervously, and peers up at Kiyoomi’s seated figure, back pressed to the headboard and reading glasses seated on his tall nose bridge.

“Hey,” Atsumu starts, not entirely sure where he’s guiding this conversation.

Kiyoomi gives a hum to regard him, then flips the page.

“Do ya still love me?” He swallows down his saliva when dark eyes finally lift off the page to put their attention on him.

“Of course,” he responds as though he’s confused where it comes from, then snaps his book closed to bend down and give him a kiss on his nose. Atsumu smiles softly and wishes it had been on his lips instead.

“Are ya tired, Omi?”

Kiyoomi hums again and tucks himself under the comforter before reaching over to turn the bedside table lamp off. “Yeah, I am. I have an early day tomorrow.” He loops his arms around Atsumu’s middle to pull him closer, then presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “Goodnight baby.”

Twenty minutes later and Atsumu is still awake. Kiyoomi is asleep for sure—it’s not hard to tell after being together for so long. His breaths are soft and warm against his skin and his fingers hover just over Atsumu’s abdomen, ghosting feather-like touches but it's not enough. He sucks in a sharp inhale, then rolls his hips back a little just to feel the outline of Kiyoomi’s length rub against him gently.

It’s wrong, yeah, but Atsumu’s _deprived._ Nobody can blame him because he’s young, healthy, and two weeks without sex _or_ masturbation is a really fucking long time. He’s pretty sure he can come three times in half an hour if he really tries.

Kiyoomi stirs behind him and it awakens a mild clarity in the hazy horniness of his mind, so Atsumu bites his tongue and gently, quietly peels the arms off him to plant his feet in his slippers. The big boba plushie he had begged Kiyoomi for sits in the corner of their bedroom, big beady eyes staring at Atsumu as he reaches for his phone and unplugs it from its charger.

He inches the bathroom door closed painfully slowly, makes sure the handle is turned so it doesn’t click, and then turns the lock in place before letting out the biggest sigh of relief. He _has_ been holding his breath for a while.

He’s been holding a _lot_ in for a while.

Atsumu eagerly hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, perspiration already beginning to form over his chest from anticipation, and then pulls up an incognito tab on his phone. God, he feels like a high schooler trying to jerk off in secret because he’s afraid of being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

Well, he’s _still_ afraid of being caught, although the repercussions would be drastically different. He doesn’t even bother looking for a decent video, clicks the first one he sees with the lewdest captioned title possible, and lets it play on the bathroom counter. He’s not even watching, because he’s got three fingers in his mouth, other hand jerking the base of his cock, as he’s thinking about Kiyoomi potentially walking in on him.

It won’t happen—he knows it won’t, but he entertains the idea anyway. He sticks a finger in, sighs at the satisfaction of the small stretch, and wonders what Kiyoomi would do when he catches him fingering himself open in the middle of the night. Would he laugh? Kiss him on the nose and tell him he’s cute? Or would his eyes darken in that way that makes Atsumu’s stomach curl with welcomed apprehension? Would he manhandle him, push him against the wall, and then whisper dirty, humiliating things into the shell of Atsumu’s ear?

“You’re _bad,_ Atsumu,” he thinks about Kiyoomi saying right up against the side of his face. There are three fingers in him now, a quicker stretch than normal, but the slight discomfort of the sting is exactly what he needs. He needs it _dirty_ right now, _rough._

His hand jerks faster, fingers forced deeper to attempt to hit that spot, but he misses it every single time. His thighs are too thick, he can’t wrap his arm around them properly without toppling off the toilet lid. The position is awkward, a little uncomfortable, but _god_ does it feel better than Atsumu last remembers. Maybe two weeks of waiting _c_ _an_ be worth it.

“Oh my god,” Atsumu pants out through a whisper, frustrated and desperate. He can’t _get it right._ He slides his hand up to the tip, thumb brushing over the head, and mewls out gently. It’s fine. He can still come. His breaths come out rapidly, bangs matted against his forehead from the sweat, and focuses on the moaning in the porno still playing from his phone.

 _“Yes,”_ Atsumu sighs, eyes rolled to the back of his head, _“yesyesyes.”_ He’s so close, he’s so fucking _close—_

There’s a knock on the door, sharp and abrupt, and he imagines long fingers shoved deep to the knuckles inside him.

“Atsumu?”

He comes loud, the moan choked right out from the back of his throat, as he paints his chest in thick, hot strings of white. It shoots out so hard it hits him on his chin, lands a bit on his lip. He swipes his tongue over it, a much-needed relief finally washing over him—and then a slap of inevitable dread.

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi's voice is lined with a harder edge now. Atsumu hops onto his feet, panicking.

“Uh—yeah, sorry, I’ll be right there, _shit,_ gimme—gimme a sec!” he yells loudly, hands scrambling to pause the video that’s still playing on his phone, moans loud enough to echo through his ears. Shit, shit, _shit_ —he turns on the tap, ice cold water blasting out from the faucet, and splashes two, cupped handfuls right into his face. He misses the way the doorknob jiggles, only realizes the door is open when it hits him in his hip, startling him. Kiyoomi stands there, a white paperclip in his hand, bent to a wand.

“Omi,” Atsumu breathes out, feigning surprise and innocence. Only one of those feelings are true. “I—what are you—I thought you were asleep.” He attempts a laugh, but it comes out sounding too nervous and Atsumu can’t _believe_ the way he can so clearly see Kiyoomi’s eyes darken, eyebrows anchored as he slowly processes everything, from the way Atsumu is still very, very naked, the cum drying on his chest, and the heavy flush on his cheeks.

“I _was_ asleep. I woke up because I heard something and worried someone had broken in, but,” he pauses, then casts the drag of a long glance down and up Atsumu’s form, his curved shoulders and then the bob of his throat when Atsumu swallows, “I suppose I had nothing to worry about when all you were doing is just getting yourself off.”

“Baby, wait, I can explain—”

“Then explain,” except Atsumu isn’t even given the chance because Kiyoomi has shoved him back a couple steps by forcing his own body into the washroom, door kicked shut with a hard slam behind him. There are hands on him in an instant, slender, cold fingers gripping the sides of his face and the other around his waist to shove him back into the wall.

God, should Atsumu be this turned on right now? He’s _so_ turned on. Kiyoomi seems to notice the anticipation rushing through his bloodstream because he glances down between them and scoffs, then looks up at Atsumu with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you just came.”

“Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do when yer—”

“Do _not,”_ Kiyoomi cuts him off, voice dripping with a clear warning, and shoves him a little harder, “get snarky with me right now, Atsumu.”

His breath catches in his throat, and then Kiyoomi is kissing him, teeth sinking harshly into his bottom lip. Atsumu sputters, the grip around his face starting to make him a little sore in his cheeks, but he tries to match the urgent pace Kiyoomi is setting. He fails, pants out against his mouth with his tongue out for him to suck upon. Nails scratch down his body to his thighs, then around to spread his ass cheeks wide.

Kiyoomi swallows the moans right down his throat, then kisses down to his neck to bite hard enough for Atsumu to flinch with a groan. It’s _incredible_ —he’s _so_ hard he needs Kiyoomi to touch him _right now._

“Please,” Atsumu begs through his whisper, hips rolling forward.

“No,” Kiyoomi responds easily, lifts his head to stare down at Atsumu’s neck. He feels fingers back on his face to tilt his chin up and to the side. Atsumu readily lets him maneuver him around. “Look at you, Atsumu. You’re a mess.”

Atsumu spins so fast he hardly registers it, mind fuzzy and thoughts completely incoherent as he’s pressed to the wall, feels the grind of the outline of Kiyoomi’s cock in his briefs between his ass cheeks, and wonders briefly if this is how it feels to be turned into a ragdoll.

“You like this, don’t you?” Kiyoomi asks with a muse, fingers reaching between them to rub a dry finger against his entrance. Atsumu flinches despite having just fingered himself open minutes ago.

Kiyoomi presses a little harder. “Answer me, Atsumu.”

 _“Yes,”_ he responds quickly, desperately, “yes, I do—I do. _Please_ Omi, _please,_ I—”

The feeling is gone, but then it’s back in a hot flash and it’s _wet,_ a long digit sliding deep into him. It’s not enough. He presses his hips back, thankful when Kiyoomi takes a single step back to accommodate for the spread of his legs, then chokes out a gasp when Kiyoomi shoves him down to a bend at his hips, face pressed to the wall with a hand at the back of his neck.

Two fingers, now. Kiyoomi doesn’t let him rock his hips with his own pressed right up against Atsumu’s, immobile. He whines, muffled into the wall, and clenches down on the fingers. The pressure on his neck is released but Atsumu doesn’t lift himself up, jerking harshly when he feels a sharp sting against his thigh.

“Like that?” Kiyoomi asks huskily from behind him. Atsumu nods aggressively; he doesn’t trust his voice right now.

Another slap. Atsumu’s legs jolt violently. “Use your words, baby.”

_“Yes.”_

His cock hangs heavy and hard between his legs but Kiyoomi pays it little attention, three fingers working inside him _so good_ it makes Atsumu feel like he’s ascending. It hits him right where it feels best—the same place he had absolutely no success reaching back when he was still seated on the toilet, one leg lifted and the other resting on the ledge of the bathtub.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Kiyoomi whispers, chest pressed to Atsumu’s back, and Atsumu cries out at the curl of fingers inside him, weeps at the way he loves him so hard, like a strike of thunder and then so gently so suddenly.

“I wish you could see yourself.” There’s a hum from Kiyoomi’s throat, and then his fingers slip out. Atsumu’s fingers curl into fists, nails dragging along the wall, and clenches down on nothing. He needs more—needs Kiyoomi to _shove his cock in him._

“Bad boys don’t get what they want,” says Kiyoomi, hands tickling gently over Atsumu’s backside, then strikes a palm down on his right ass cheek. A soft kiss to the sting. And then his left, and another press of lips there. Kiyoomi thrusts his fingers back inside, delivers spanks all over his hips, ass, and thighs as he pumps them rhythmically, fast and so, _so_ hard it nearly drives Atsumu off the edge.

“G-Gonna come,” Atsumu pants out with warning; he knows Kiyoomi would want to know, but he still sobs into the bend of his arm when the emptiness greets him once again.

“Good job, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi voices out, traces plush lips along his back and kisses him down his spine. “You’re so good for me. Come here."

Atsumu stretches himself upright on shaky legs and turns to see Kiyoomi seated on the toilet, fully bare, and understands immediately, but he's told to get on his knees anyway. Obligingly, he goes, settles back on his ankles between Kiyoomi's open legs, and then tilts his head up to meet him for a kiss halfway. It's delicate, Kiyoomi's tongue velvety against his own. Kiyoomi leans back and watches Atsumu down the slope of his nose as he guides his thick cock with a push of his thumb, and it hits Atsumu right on his cheek.

"Suck," Kiyoomi demands, presses his cock right along pretty, red-bitten lips. Atsumu sticks his tongue out to feel the weight of Kiyoomi's dick against it, the taste familiar and so very missed, then drags it down to the base to lick a fat, slow stripe up to the tip. His hands rest on his own thighs, wanting to let his mouth to all the work as he finally takes Kiyoomi into his mouth and lets it hit the back of his throat immediately.

 _"Shit,"_ he hears him curse, and Atsumu responds with the vibration of a hum, sucks until his cock is wet and slick and coated with so much of his saliva it drips down the corners of his mouth when he pulls away. "Come on baby, you can go deeper," and then there's a hand at the back of his head, guiding him right back where he knows he belongs. Atsumu wonders how he looks like this, mouth full of cock and spit smeared across his face. Kiyoomi must be having a hell of a ride, and it's because it's Atsumu giving it to him.

He takes his cock down his throat, then comes back up, and down again until he's comfortable with the stretch in his throat, nose buried deep in the coarse curls of Kiyoomi's pubic hair. He gags a little but focuses on his breathing to keep himself there longer. He feels the fingers tighten in his hair and a shaky moan from above him, and Atsumu absolutely _spoils_ himself with that sound. He gags again, then lefts himself off to open his mouth wide, tongue hanging out to let the bubbles of his saliva drip off and onto Kiyoomi's dick.

"That was so good, baby," Kiyoomi murmurs, hands brushing along the sides of his cheeks. "I'm going to fuck your mouth."

And if _that_ didn't drive Atsumu past his point, he doesn't know what will. His own cock is achingly hard, but he refuses to touch it until Kiyoomi is done with him. He opens his mouth wide, lets Kiyoomi pull him forward and push him down on his cock, slowly at first. Atsumu relaxes his throat to accommodate for the familiar slide down until Kiyoomi is finally fucking into his mouth earnestly, the tip of his cock hitting his back and making him gag with every thrust up, spit dribbling down to his hairs. Then he's shoving Atsumu down, hand steady and unmoving at the back of his head, until he's got him entirely down his throat. Atsumu chokes, tears wetting his eyes and sliding down his cheeks, then raises his hands to press against Kiyoomi's thighs. He's held there for another two seconds before Kiyoomi finally lifts him off, Atsumu coughing and vision blurring through the wetness.

"Good job baby," Kiyoomi whispers, and the praise spreads a heat blossoming across his chest, satiated and bubbling with happiness. "You did so well—amazing."

Atsumu is brought back up to his feet and finds himself in a similar position he had been in minutes ago, cheek pressed to the wall and hips out. He hears Kiyoomi spit behind him and he finally, _finally_ feels the drag of something thick, hot, and wet along his hole, cheeks spread wide with bruising thumbs.

Kiyoomi teases the head in slowly, grip tightening over Atsumu’s hips when he tries to force himself back on his cock, and then he’s fully buried inside him with a sharp snap of his hips, the sound of their skin slapping against each other music to Atsumu’s ears. It’s so full—he feels _so_ full, loves how Kiyoomi fits perfectly inside of him and clenches down hard just to indulge in it some more.

“Fuck,” Kiyoomi breathes out and begins to diligently fuck Atsumu into the wall, hips rolling forward as his hands pull Atsumu’s hips against him like he’s some cocksleeve for him to use. It’s so good, so terrifyingly good it makes his knees weak. He hiccups out his moans, cheek rubbed raw against the wall with every push forward.

“You’re beautiful, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi tells him, a hand reaching up into Atsumu’s hair, gentle as his fingers weave through his strands. Atsumu whines, loves how he touches him with delicacy, then groans out with a sudden wave of arousal hitting him when the fingers tighten with a yank.

Kiyoomi slips his cock out, guides them around until Atsumu’s arms instinctively prop himself up on the counter of the washroom sink, chin tilted high so he meets the intense gaze in the mirror. He looks absolutely _wrecked,_ feels _destroyed_ when Kiyoomi shoves his cock back inside, fingers still gripping tight into his hair.

 _“O-O-Omi-i-i!”_ Atsumu stutters out, the word broken up in parts with every hard thrust that slaps against his ass. His vision blurs with his tears when Kiyoomi releases the hold on his hair to drag both palms slowly down the sides of his body. He isn’t looking at Atsumu anymore, line of sight directed to where their bodies are connected.

“Oh, baby,” Kiyoomi moans out sweetly, pulls out slowly until just his tip is inside, then rolls his hips forward so gently it feels like they’re making love, “you take my cock so well.” The change in pace is scary—Kiyoomi fucks him so well like this, torturously slowly, enough for Atsumu to feel every inch that drags along his walls like they’re trying to map him out from the inside.

“Look at yourself,” Kiyoomi pants out, and Atsumu does. There’s a huge bruise on the side of his neck, smaller ones decorating around it, and his cheeks are tear-stained, pink and raw like how he imagines his behind to look too, but he looks absolutely _blissed out._ “You see that, baby? Look at you taking me. You like seeing yourself being fucked open like this?”

The pace is brutal again, and Kiyoomi pounds into him so hard the tip of Atsumu’s cock hits the cabinets, rubs it so well he’s sure he can come like this. Whiplash hits him viciously, mind turned to putty and legs like jelly. It’s like the task of keeping his eyes open is almost impossible to do, eyelids suddenly heavy and drooping. He rolls them to the back of his head, jaw dropped open and fingers curling into the edges of the counter.

“O-Omi,” he chokes out, toes curling against the washroom tiles, “Omi—can’t—I can’t—”

The hand is back in his hair, forcing his gaze forward. “Come, baby. Look at yourself and come.” Kiyoomi reaches his other hand down to press a daring thumb along his rim, drags it right up alongside the sliding of his cock, dips it inside, and Atsumu thinks he comes even harder than his first time; he comes so hard the noise stays stuck at the back of his throat, raw and sore, mouth open and knuckles turning white with his squeezing. Kiyoomi pulls out, satisfied with the look on Atsumu’s face as he comes down, knees trembling.

“You… didn’t come,” Atsumu pants out, an arm supported around Kiyoomi’s shoulders.

Kiyoomi smirks, sucks a gentle kiss onto Atsumu’s puffy lips. “Did you think I was done?”

They end up on their bed with Atsumu on his back and Kiyoomi’s cock back inside him, hands testing the limits of his flexibility as they push Atsumu’s thighs to his chest to bend him in half. His thrusts contrast what they had been back in the washroom, this time slower, like he’s trying to love Atsumu into the bedsheets, love him until he melts into the comforter.

It also contradicts all the nasty words that fall from his lips, brushing right up against Atsumu’s ear. “You’re so _dirty.”_ A hard thrust, and then a slow slide back out. “Fucking yourself in the washroom?” Deeper, even slower. _“Slut.”_

Atsumu sobs, breath hitching when a hand comes over his neck. “You like this, don’t you? I bet you wanted me to walk in on you. You knew this would happen, didn’t you, baby?”

The hand tightens and Atsumu holds his breath anyway, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He mouths his words, _yes, yes, yes,_ arms hooked around his legs to spread them wider. Kiyoomi releases his grip, leans down to kiss the breath out of Atsumu’s lungs, and bites down on his chin.

A hand comes around his cock to startle a jolt out of Atsumu, a whimper leaving his lips. He shoves at Kiyoomi’s chest, the overstimulation something he both wants to get away from and wants _more_ of. He doesn’t know whether he wants to sink back into the mattress or thrust up into that grip, but he swears can’t come again. He lied—three times is way too much.

“I can’t,” he chokes out through a sob, teary-eyed. Kiyoomi kisses the wetness away from his clumpy lashes, curved and pretty, but the hand keeps moving anyway. It’s too much, way too much, even as his cock fills out slowly again, blood rushing there with the stimulation. He jerks his hips away, but Kiyoomi’s insistent.

“One more, Atsumu,” he feels the vibration of the words against his cheek. “You can do it baby.”

“I can’t, I _can’t.”_

“Yes you can.”

Kiyoomi leans back up, readjusts his position, and pounds into Atsumu so hard it almost feels like he wants to _break_ him. His hole is rubbed raw but still, it feels terrifyingly _amazing._ Atsumu cries, chest heaving, because it hits him suddenly how much trust he puts into this man above him, fucking him open, fucking him so honestly, fucking him like he’s the only one who’ll ever love Atsumu like this.

A thumb traces along the side of his face, knuckles brushing the tears away, and then there are fingers in his mouth. It’s too much, Atsumu thinks, but it’s not enough. He doesn’t think he can do it, but _god_ does it feel good to be fucked over and over, forever and ever.

“You’re so beautiful, Atsumu, even when you cry. Absolutely _gorgeous._ I wish you could see yourself. Can't you come a third time for me?”

“I _can’t.”_

The hand around his cock picks up in its pace again, and then Kiyoomi leans down until their noses brush against each other, eyes so dark, pupils so dilated Atsumu feels like he’s drowning in them. “Yes you can, I’ll make you.”

Atsumu comes for the third time that night, just a little bit, but the feeling shakes his entire body, an explosion of colours behind his closed eyelids. The thrusting doesn’t stop, Kiyoomi more brutal than ever, and Atsumu tries to get away, he really does until it stops, the rawest moan from Kiyoomi that Atsumu has ever heard stuttered past open lips. He watches Kiyoomi as he comes, feels his cock twitch inside him, and finds him absolutely _breathtaking_ with the way his dark curls fall past his forehead, eyes squeezes closed and the silhouette of his Adam’s apple clear against their drawn blinds, illuminated by the moonlight.

Kiyoomi pulls out slowly, watching intently at the quiver of Atsumu’s thighs as his cock slips out all the way.

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi speaks softly, traces over the cum dripping from Atsumu’s hole, then dips two fingers inside. Atsumu yelps out, surprised and oversensitive, and flushes hard at the way Kiyoomi chuckles and removes his fingers. An intense wave of clarity hits Atsumu hard, and he swallows when his mouth salivates suddenly, a shudder shaking through him.

“Hey, baby, shh,” Kiyoomi whispers, arms around him in an instant. “I’m here. You did so good, Atsumu. You’re so beautiful, you know? You came three times, that's amazing.”

Atsumu curls into his chest and hugs him close, suddenly embarrassed. It’s not like they haven’t had sex like this before; they know what they’re doing— _Kiyoomi_ knows exactly what he’s doing, but the shame that strikes him immediately is still something he has to come to terms with, but Kiyoomi is always there to help him through it.

He feels lips on his forehead, then his temple and cheek and his nose. “I love you. I love you so much, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi presses a kiss to trembling lips, and Atsumu kisses back softly. “Let’s get a bath running, okay?”

That night, Atsumu sleeps better than he ever has before.

Morning comes and, surprisingly, Atsumu wakes up before Kiyoomi does. He spends five minutes mapping out the details of Kiyoomi’s face as if he doesn’t already have all the perfections memorized. Even blind, Atsumu thinks he can recognize him in a heartbeat.

Kiyoomi stirs gently when Atsumu traces a thumb over his cheek, and then his eyelids lift like in slowmotion, lashes long and curved to his brows.

“Good mornin’,” Atsumu whispers, voice gravelly, and leans in to kiss Kiyoomi’s lips.

“Good morning,” Kiyoomi responds easily, a tired but genuine smile stretched across his cheeks.

“I think we should talk,” Atsumu tells him, just because he doesn’t think he can wait until after Kiyoomi is done with work. He’s waited long enough—he’s learned he shouldn’t have to anymore.

“Why were you alone yesterday?” Kiyoomi asks, a finger tracing across Atsumu’s forehead to clear the bangs away from his eyes.

“I thought… ya didn’t wanna have sex with me anymore,” Atsumu admits quietly, eyes diverted to Kiyoomi’s collarbones.

He watches the confusion build on Kiyoomi’s face, but Atsumu knows he doesn’t have to explain it—he’s smart enough to catch on, and he’s proven to be right when understanding finally dawns on his expression.

“Atsumu, I—that’s not true. Not in a million years.”

“I know,” he says, and he does. He was a fool for thinking Kiyoomi stopped loving him just because they haven’t had much intimacy in two weeks.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy. I should have talked to you about it, but I didn’t want to bring you any unnecessary stress. The beginning is always a little tough, but things should clear up in a couple of weeks,” Kiyoomi explains and wraps an arm around Atsumu’s waist to pull him into his chest. “I promise.”

He seals it with a kiss, not to his forehead or his nose, but to his lips, chaste like it’s their first time ever. Even without that promise, Atsumu knows Kiyoomi would have talked to him eventually. He supposes they both just needed a bit of a push, and he’s always happy to give that, even it comes in the form of an incredibly merciless pounding. Well, Atsumu enjoyed it much more than he would have thought.

They head into the washroom together to brush their teeth and get ready, but then Atsumu chokes when he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror—his mind had been so muddled last night, high off endorphins and adrenaline he hadn't even _remembered._

“Holy _fuck,_ the hell didja do to my _neck?!”_

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST AND FOREMOST I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE DHFSHHDF
> 
> i have never written pwp before this is,, admittedly my first considering how i am always in H word hours (yes, it must be capitalized) so i am really sorry if this was,,, not up to expectations HAHAHA i kinda just wanted to give it a try and i wrote it in one go literally at 3 am last night
> 
> this was meant for sakuatsu fluff week 2021 DAY 8
> 
> if u dont already know, i tend to write long stories with a clear plot and outline but my brain, for the life of it, could not come up with anything could for day 8's prompts, so i was like "wow, what if they just have some really intense quarantine sex?" and then it turned out to be the dirtiest thing ive EVER written but,,, completely self indulgent so
> 
> ANWAYS i did try to add as much fluff in there as possible,, not sure if praise kink really counts but ?? testin my limits here HAHAHA
> 
> come find me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) where i am constantly in sakuatsu hell !! always looking for friends <3


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